


Day 19: Cookies/cake/gingerbread

by xsilverdreamsx



Series: 30 Day Winter Challenge [19]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Baked Goods, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsilverdreamsx/pseuds/xsilverdreamsx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wrote 2 fics for this prompt in the <a href="http://heckyeahtumblrchallenges.tumblr.com/post/35486362064/winter-drawing-writing-challenge">30 day winter fic challenge</a>.<br/>Prompt and pairing suggested by Jean and leona-dracontis.<br/><span class="small"><b>Disclaimer</b>: Characters are not mine, am playing in the sandbox, etc etc.</span></p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote 2 fics for this prompt in the [30 day winter fic challenge](http://heckyeahtumblrchallenges.tumblr.com/post/35486362064/winter-drawing-writing-challenge).  
> Prompt and pairing suggested by Jean and leona-dracontis.  
>  **Disclaimer** : Characters are not mine, am playing in the sandbox, etc etc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _1\. Moriyama/Okamura_

_1\. Moriyama/Okamura_

The kitchen is small, and not exactly ideal for cooking anything more than a simple meal of ramen and boiled eggs. On top of the kitchen counter is a small induction cooker instead of a traditional gas stove, currently switched off. There’s barely enough room for anything else except for a small kitchen sink that can fit perhaps a few bowls and a mug.

The only table in here is the wall-mounted kind, the type that folds down to allow for more space in the narrow kitchen. At this moment, the table is pulled out, a small oven placed on top of the wooden surface. It’s not empty, of course, and Moriyama can’t help but tug open the oven door slightly to take a peek.

The smell hits him, and his mouth waters at the prospect of the freshly baked cookies that will soon be done, warm and perfect for the cold winter season.

Large hands wrap around his waist, tugging him away from the oven. “You’re not supposed to peek,” Okamura says in his ear, sounding grumpy.

Moriyama turns around, sliding his arms up Okamura’s chest to wrap around his neck. “I was curious,” he says, watching as Okamura pouted slightly. “Besides, you didn’t tell me you knew how to bake.” What surprises him more, however, is how Okamura manages to move around effortlessly in such a tiny kitchen, let alone _bake_ anything.

Okamura’s face turns red with embarrassment.

It’s… adorable - a word Moriyama had never thought he’d find himself using on another guy - and he wonders how anyone had ever considered Okamura to be scary and intimidating. In the months that he had come to know Okamura, he had discovered that he was gentle and kindhearted, traits that had been often missed out whenever anyone had looked at Okamura, seeing only his height and size and unsmiling face.

It had been a whim; Moriyama mentioning to Okamura that he was yearning for some freshly baked cookies, _homemade_ cookies, and not the kind that had been mass-produced and prepacked for general consumption. Okamura had agreed that those were the best kind, while Moriyama lamented the fact that no one in his family could bake, or else he would be stalking the kitchen for those. (Moriyama himself could boil an egg and cook rice for himself, but that was as far as his kitchen skills went. Baking, it seemed, was practically an art form that he couldn’t fathom.)

The oven interrupts his reverie with a _ding!_ , and Moriyama turns around, eager for a cookie. He’s stopped by Okamura, however, who’s shaking his head, his arms still wrapped around Moriyama. 

“Not yet, you have to wait,” he says. “The cookies need to cool first or else they won’t taste good.”

“But- “ Moriyama sneaks another look at the oven, before he catches sight of the beginnings of a frown on Okamura’s face. 

“Okay, okay,” he says, flashing Okamura a smile before tilting his head to nuzzle at the side of Okamura’s neck, brushing his lips against the skin before pressing soft, calming kisses along his jawline. “I can wait a little longer,” he murmurs, before adding coyly, “but you’ll have to keep me distracted until then.”

*  
When Okamura finally rescue the cookies from the oven, they’re not as warm as they should be. 

But they’re still delicious and perfect, Moriyama tells Okamura, as he holds up his half of the cookie for Okamura to have a taste.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Midorima/Takao

_2\. Midorima/Takao_

 

The heavenly smell of freshly baked goods drifts out of the box, teasing Takao’s senses with the promise of sweet, sugary things.

A white box sits on top of Midorima’s table, tied with a delicate-looking ribbon. It’s not a large box, perhaps slightly wider than his hand. Takao wonders who could have left it here for Midorima, in their classroom, and why.

It’s probably from one of Midorima’s admirers, Takao thinks. Although deemed unapproachable by his peers, Midorima still has a fair share of girls _and_ guys longing after him even if they’re too intimidated to approach him themselves. 

Instead, they always end up electing Takao as their messenger, handing him gifts and cards and sealed notes with their numbers and badly drawn hearts to pass to Midorima.

(Takao would have gleefully thrown away each and everyone of these items, except for his guilty conscience that makes him hand over the items to Midorima, pouting.

Midorima, on the other hand, has no such compulsions, and dumps them in the nearest bin the first chance he gets.)

Whatever is in the box smells really good, however, and Takao considers relinquishing Midorima of the burden of throwing it away. It would be a shame to waste something potentially tasty, Takao thinks to himself.

His hand is nearly within reach of the box when a familiar voice interrupts him.

“What are you doing, Takao?”

Surprised, Takao loses his balance and falls onto the floor, his elbow painfully banging against the table where he had been bracing himself as he leaned over to reach for the box.

“Ow, ow,” he complains, looking up at Midorima as he rubbed his elbow. “Shin-chan, a little warning next time?”

Midorima’s eyes narrows. “You wouldn’t have injured yourself if you hadn’t been so nosy,” he says drily, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, before picking up the box from his table.

Takao grins up at him. “Aw, come on, Shin-chan. It’s not like it’s the first time someone’s left you a gift.” He shifts, getting up from the ground, busying himself with brushing the dust off his pants.

Midorima clears his throat. “It’s not for me.”

“Hah, sure it is,” Takao tells him. “It’s on _your_ table, Shin-chan. Who else would it be-?”

“It’s for you.”

Takao freezes.

He looks up at Midorima, who’s still standing in front of him with the box in his hand. “What.”

Midorima wordlessly pushes it into Takao’s hands. “I meant to give it to you, but I was called away by a teacher to assist in something.” His cheeks are pink - holy basketball fairies, Midorima is _blushing_ \- and he’s refusing to meet Takao’s eyes.

“You’re giving me a present.” Takao stares at the box in his hand. It’s not a question. Midorima _never_ gives him gifts, unless it’s related to Takao’s lucky item for that day.

“It’s nothing to fuss over. Our cook made too much of these,” Midorima tells him quickly, his voice oddly strained. “Since you have a sweet tooth, I presumed that you might enjoy them.”

Curious, Takao tugs at the ribbon - it’s green, like the color of Midorima’s hair, a color that Takao has come to count as one of his favorites - and opens the lid to discover the box filled with miniature-sized gingerbread men.

He picks one out of the box and pops it into his mouth.

Surprisingly, it’s really tasty, and before he knows it, he’s eaten two more as Midorima watches him, as if waiting for the verdict.

“Mmm, this tastes so good,” Takao tells him happily. “Here, Shin-chan, you try it,” he says holding one up towards Midorima, waving it near his mouth. “Say _ahh_.”

Midorima stares at him for several long seconds. Takao wonders if he’s crossed a line, but then, Midorima grips his wrist, leans closer to take a bite of the gingerbread man; his mouth brushes against Takao’s fingers before he pulls away and releases his hold on Takao.

Takao blinks.

“You’re right,” Midorima says, brushing a few stray crumbs from his mouth. “It does taste good.”

His voice sounds calm and cool as though nothing had happened. Except, his cheeks are bright pink as he quickly returns to his seat, leaving Takao flustered and blushing over the lingering feeling of Midorima’s lips on his fingers for the rest of the day.


End file.
